Horizon Ridge jenny would dance with her ghosts

@Ingram <3 Hope this is okay

Ruona had slowly made her way into warmer climates, though they were not by much. Her paws were freshly stained from berries, carrying a light fragrance as she made her way through the Ridge, careful to stay away from the Ridge’s edge. She did not look to tempt fate… She shuddered softly, considering the last time she had tempted fate, trying to push the memories down in favor of focusing on her surroundings.
 
She hummed softly to herself as she moved, a gentle tune her mother used to sing to them, and used to howl to the sky… she would never forget it. She was thinner than she had before, the diet of rabbits proving insufficient finally, her hunger growling as it gnawed at her belly, creating an unpleasant noise to her ears.
 
Surely, it should not be this difficult for her to sustain herself, right? She would even whine softly as it happened, beginning to smell the air around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of well… something.

this is perfect; thanks for starting! <3

the chill of winter crept in like greedy, grasping fingers. the dreadfather makes their way from the weeping woods of ravensblood, taking distinct note of the leaders absences. more and more their scents seem to fade and a light shiver slithers down their spine in a shudder as they are reminded, once more, of the vision their threadbones had shown them.

it hangs, ever pressing in the forefront of ingram's mind. a desire, a fate; perhaps.

salmon pink tongue drawls across their scarred lips to taste the lingering of salt, getting their fix of the restless and untamable ocean as they pace the ridge; not straying too far from sacrarium despite that they feel no tethers of loyalty.

it is only the spark of opportunity that keeps them there.

in the quickly closing distance: another.

a soft chuff leaves their lips to garner her attention.

The winter was doomed to follow her. She came from lands where it was almost constant, the warmth of summer barely ever reaching her and so she was certain she was the one bringing the weather to the lands she now travelled, even if it was a milder winter than perhaps what she might have been used to.
 
Her stomach growled once more, a frown before a soft chuff caught her attention, her eyes turning to look for it’s source as her head moved on a swivel. “Who?” She called out, accent thick in the air to give away the foreign nature of her culture. The common tongue of these lands were still strange to her, even if she had a good grasp on the language as it were.
 
Her tone was not outwardly unfriendly, more curious and almost morbidly so… she liked to know things and that included what others might be within her immediate surroundings.

who?

it dances across the air; taking on a delightful accent that ingram has never before heard.

for a chaotic moment, he considers letting the mystery linger, even as she turns to him. the voidwalker lets out a slow breath, steps ceasing at a short distance away: enough to be respectful of space but not so far that either of them had to yell ( despite that their hearing as wolves was quite good ).

i have many names, he breaks his silence coyly. the dreadfather, he offers his favored name; a highly coveted and sacrosanct title first and foremost. some do not like to call him that, shuddering away from the dark power it eludes. but many call me ingram. a thread of his past he cannot carve away no matter how hard he's tried.

and what do they call you? the dreadfather calls out with the belief that it is only fair he is given a name...or title at the very least in return.

Since her encounter with Colt and Indra, she had been more cautious when it came to running into others. I have many names. That alone was enough to set her more on edge. The dreadfather. It meant very little to her but the name was enough to cause hesitation in her eyes.
 
The question came, and yet he was friendly it seemed. “My name is Rana.” She stated, the accent thick. “Rana, priestess of the Saivo and weaver of fates.” She clarified in her native tongue, the long drawl being the full title, the tone carrying more of a clarification approach so he might be able to figure he was not missing much information.
 
“What is ‘dreadfather’?”

there is a brief moment of what ingram interprets as a pause in her gaze; though it is impossible to tell for sure. easily, it could've been his past experiences with introducing himself as dreadfather that colors his perception in the here and now.

irregardless, he does not focus upon it.

rana, she introduces herself as and then speaks in a language that he does not know. it draws a soft furrow of confusion into his brow which smooths out moments later.

dreadfather is me. for ingram, it is simply that simple.

Assuming in this post there is some kind of Basilica scent on his pelt but please let me know if that is wrong <3

He was dreadfather. She found the title strange, figuring it some kind of pack title. Perhaps he led the pack that’s scent he carried so strong on his pelt. It brought more questions than he seemed willing to answer. “It is an interesting name.” She offered simply, still keeping herself guarded… still disgusted by Colt’s demand for sex as payment for a meal that she helped them take down to begin with… still untrusting of those around her as a result.
 
“I am… priestess… I weave fates... interpret between the gods and wolf.” She stated, explaining in the awkward common tongue and hoping that she had found the correct translation for what she was when she was explaining it to him.

that's perfectly fine! <3

...it is less of a name and more of a title. a rank. but as it is so intimately linked with him, ingram makes no move to disentangle it from himself. for he will answer to it, perhaps more willingly than ingram, despite it is the name he has chosen for himself.

a piece of praimfaya he was unwilling to let go of — though if he clings to it because of spite or some wisp of love he is unable to kill he isn't sure.

doesn't care enough to inspect too closely.

his weight shifts as she speaks; interest sparked at her words. a priestess! a weaver of fates; speaker for the gods. but which? did it matter? no.

a speaker. ingram offers in half a statement, half a question. though it was hard to speak of what he was: that he went beyond seer, beyond reader of threadbones...that his body is vessel for sithis... or ash paw's sos ...or whatever god anyone chose to see him as.

there is a hum of the voidwraiths within ingram's skull, a low thrum of something though he cannot place it. not without the clarification of the threadbones ...and they are tucked away in their new home upon the plateau.

i am building a home. for priestesses. for speakers between gods and mortals, ingram begins. i call it basilica. he speaks this much before letting his words trail off, seaglass gaze searching her face in an attempt to discern potential interest.

A title; a rank. He had confirmed what she had thought to herself and in that moment, she was proud of her own deductive reasoning. Dreadfather would be a particularly silly name for someone to have, but as a title it held a certain sense of power and dignity that she could appreciate.
 
A speaker. She hummed softly, nodding, accepting the word for he surely had a better handle on the language they were speaking to each other than she did. It seemed as if he understood what it was she was trying to say, and so she found herself willing to listen to and respect his opinion on the subject matter. “Yes, speaker.” She stated, confirming verbally what it was he had suggested was correct.
 
He was building a home? For wolves like her? She found some interest in it, blinking for a moment or two as she processed. Bastilica. That must have been the pack scent she caught on his pelt, and furthermore she was right: he was a leader. Perhaps the skills she had carried were not all lost with the great winter… perhaps she did have more abilities than she had thought in her wanderings.
 
“What else is Basilica for?” She asked, curious. Often times others sought out the priestesses of the Saivo for omens of war, good and bad… there was a definite interest in her voice, wondering perhaps if this man had been sent to her in order to guide her to an order where she could be of use.

if only it were so simple to put basilica, what ingram dreams for it and what the threadbones had shown him into words...

perhaps even there were aspirations for it ingram did not even know of! relying, perhaps too heavily, upon his threadbones. a home. cloying words do not come to his tongue; instead there is only cutting simplicity.

a home for those who would pray and worship and speak for the gods. any gods. all gods. a holy place. that might perhaps offer their services to the wilds at large as kings rend themselves before oracles of old...if it ever went that far. but, for now, ingram reigns in his highest ambitions.

what was foundling first needed to become more than seeds.

It was a home… was he offering it to her? Was he offering it up to the fallen priestess of the Saivo, who had misinterpreted an omen that had led to the death of those around her? She had weighed all the options, felt herself conflicted with it regularly: her people were foolish, it had been her mistake… those two sides of her warred against one another and she still was not certain which one was correct.
 
All gods. Any gods… “It would be a challenge… many gods do not take kindly to the worship of others in their temples. Some are more vengeful than others.” She warned carefully, curious as to what he might respond, or how he might take to such a news.
 
Still, she found herself appreciating his presence, and what he might have to offer.

there is a quiet, lingering moment as ingram considers her warning; a twitch of scarred lips given before they stretch into a slow, ghostingly coy smile. i know, ingram murmurs; in the hopes of assuring with the smoky rumble.

for he, he is vessel to the dreadfather. the voidwalker. sithis. sos.

but if i, vessel of the dreadfather sithis, can accept these worship of others then so can the gods. this, ingram believes wholeheartedly. perhaps it was too ambitious...but only the best things were worth the risk.

and this was a risk ingram was willing to take.

are you interested? he asks her, cutting straight to the point; letting her know the offer lays before her: for the taking if she wished to take it.

Her eyes widened when he spoke of being a vessel… a vessel for a god. Perhaps in that moment, she should have turned around and left, except her own exposure to the gods had her believing the words he said. “Sithis? I am unfamiliar.” She admitted instead, finding herself intrigued by what he was saying… was he confessing to be a god?
 
Hell, she wasn’t sure, but his question had her considering his offer carefully. He was straight to the point, offering her a home, around those who understood the rigors that their connection to the gods brought… “I am interested.” She decided finally, her gaze coming up to the man. “Will we be taught to defend ourselves as well?” She had to ask, having never been made aware of those skills beforehand. She recalled Colt and his daughter, and the vile things they were able to suggest because she did not have the knowledge to counter them.
 
She never wanted to be caught in that again.

perhaps, ingram considers ( too late ) it is unwise to run around speaking that he is a vessel for the dreadfather ...and typically, he does not. but she spoke of things familiar to him and for a small, brief moment he'd let his guard down. it redoubles and fortifies now, a small shift of posture, despite that she speaks of being interested.

sithis comes from the daedra, ingram offers. though i would feel more comfortable teaching within my home. there are things the voidwraith does not wish to say outside the built safetly of the plateau. it is holy ground and some words are meant only to be uttered there.

we call blacktail deer plateau home, ingram tells her, gesturing in it's direction with his muzzle. you are welcome to come with me or find us yourself, if you have other matters to attend.

a breath. i am a warrior, i would be more than happy to teach you how to defend yourself. ingram offers. a pause is given; a shift of his weight. i should not stray long. you are welcome to come with ...or find your way in your own time.